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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26505877">The Battlefield</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_a_winchester/pseuds/just_a_winchester'>just_a_winchester</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Old Guard (Movie 2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Action/Adventure, Angst, Canon Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Established Relationship, Family, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Love, M/M, Violence, this is my first TOG fic please be nice</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 13:27:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,054</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26505877</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_a_winchester/pseuds/just_a_winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A short study on Nicky and Joe over the centuries, from Joe's perspective.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>101</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Battlefield</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Whenever Joe closes his eyes, he wonders if this is the time he doesn't come back. </p><p>It had been nine hundred years of dying, of pain and suffering, of waking up and returning to the world with smooth skin and no scars - at least, no scars that others can see. And every time, he thinks that maybe this is the one that turns him over to the afterlife. </p><p>He hasn't forgotten the first time it happened. He doubted he ever would, though he's forgotten the countless times in between.</p><p>It was on the battlefield, blood and screams surrounding him, and a man in white standing before him, the red cross on his armour splattered with gore and grime. A sword in his hand, coated with the blood of Joe's allies, maybe his friends, maybe his brothers. The Englishman runs him through with bloodlust in his eyes, and Joe remembers the agony, the darkness that swept through him and swallowed him whole. He dies, satisfied he got a few good swings in before he went, his death a sacrifice for his God, for <em>his</em> Holy Land. </p><p>But most of all, he remembers returning to the daylight. </p><p>It's always a struggle. The body gasps, and jerks, and his brain thunders. Sometimes he comes back still bleeding, the pain a train that bullets into him, sometimes with a limb or two missing, sometimes the world spinning around him because his head has been split in two. Sometimes he comes back and it's silent, pressure on his ears, his wounds healed and his body whole.</p><p>That first time, Joe sat straight up and ran his hands over his stomach in wonder, his armour sticky with old blood. He had been certain he was gone, gifted to heaven, able to leave the world behind and be at peace. Around him, bodies lay still, carnage for others to collect, for the buzzards to eat. </p><p>He is alone, until he is not. </p><p>The Crusader wakes, and Joe remembers the first time he met Nicolo's eyes, only a few feet away from him. He remembers the same confusion he felt reflected in them, the same horror that quickly switched to hostility. They moved together, their weapons in hand, and clashed with a clang of steel. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>When they first kissed, it was after battle. Naturally. </p><p>Joe doesn't remember who initiated it; he's pretty sure it was both of them, though Nicky denies it was him. He remembers waking, their enemies slaughtered, and Nicolò's hands on his chest. It had been many years fighting side by side since their first encounter, many fights won and some lost. Always together. Side by side for eternity. And every time, the fear of losing the other. </p><p>Joe sits, and he can hear Nicolò's soft voice in his ear, but he can't make out the words over the ringing in his ears. He was hit by something, an arrow, or several. Nothing is clear, and he can't remember. His vision is blurry; his whole body aches, the pain a pinpoint in his chest. </p><p>'Nicolò...Nicolò...' he breathes, his voice ragged and cracked. He coughs as the pain fades to a dull ache, one that remains after every death, every wound.</p><p>'Sono qui,' Nicky says, over and over. It was their mantra, after every death, every nightmare, every injury. It was the words that Joe held onto every time he felt the loss, every time he felt the dread creep into his bones, every time he saw Nicolò take his last breath. The words they spoke to each other each time, reassurance that the other was not yet gone, but still breathing. Still existing.</p><p>'Sono qui, Yusuf.' <em>I'm here</em>. </p><p>Nicky appears in his field of vision, and his hands cup Joe's face. They have spent years, decades, becoming more comfortable with one another, physical touches and embraces and soft smiles. Joe can't imagine his life without this man by his side, his presence a balm, soothing and steadying and constant, always constant. </p><p>He blinks, clearing the fog from his eyes, and Nicky smiles. Relief paints itself across Nicky's brow. Perhaps he thought Joe wasn't returning this time. </p><p>'That one was rough,' he says, his tongue smooth as he speaks in Arabic. Joe nods, grasping Nicky's arms and holding fast. And then he moves forward, adrenaline and relief and love almost bursting his heart apart in his second death of the day. </p><p>Their lips meet, and for a moment, Joe thinks he's made a mistake. Nicky freezes, and then he pushes back, mouth pressing hard into Joe's, lips moving and searching. Their hands move, and Joe can't think anymore - he's too busy trying to get as close as he can to the man he loves, to the man he dies for, to the man he would give everything for, in an instant. He's astounded it took them so long. </p><p>They stay like that for several minutes, the battlefield raging around them, a moment of peace in a world on fire. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Every time Joe watches Nicky close his eyes, he wonders if he will follow. He wonders if they will find each other in the next life, and the next. Perhaps it is not immortality that drives them, but resurrection. </p><p>A sword to the chest. An arrow to the heart. An axe to the side. And later, bullets. How Joe hated bullets, little missiles of hot fire that had brought so much pain to his family, and the world. </p><p>The first time Nicky was shot, Joe survived with a bullet to the shoulder - a scratch, a nuisance, a strange new sensation he would remember always. The waiting was worse than dying himself, his eyes fixated on the hole in Nicky's head, his lover's glassy eyes staring at the sky. It took longer than he'd thought, and maybe it was because it was a different wound, a new weapon. But Joe let the panic course through him, as he always did. And he was already planning how to die so he could join his Nicolò.</p><p>Humans had a limited number of heartbeats in their lives, it was said. Maybe their deaths were the same, and each of them had a quota. Maybe Nicky had found his limit. Maybe he'd finally left Joe alone. </p><p>When Nicky breathed, it was like Joe breathed too.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I've only just joined the TOG fandom, and I'm obsessed with the whole concept.</p><p>I hope this is up to your satisfaction in regards to these characters. If you would like more, let me know :)  thanks for reading. </p><p>- j.a.w. xx</p></blockquote></div></div>
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